Five Ways in which India changed the World

Every time someone needs to extol India’s virtues-be it the PM at his galas for the diaspora in different countries, the FM, while pleading for FDI at different fora abroad, or sundry political and business leaders or foreign diplomats while making domestic speeches-they have to rely on some stock phrases. Largest democracy in the world, diverse, emerging economic behemoth, global bright spot, young, are some. For the more imaginative, Lord Ganesha is held up as proof of India’s prowess in cosmetic surgery and the Pushpak Vimana as our contribution to aeronautics.  On the eve of our 66^th Republic Day, I am guessing we will have to hear more of the same. So I have helpfully compiled a list of five of India’s contributions to the world which I haven’t seen being used in public discourse before.

[I would add in a disclaimer about tongues being in cheeks, or taking stuff with pinches of salt, but that goes without saying in a country where scientific conferences point to Lord Shiva as an environmentalist.]

We invented the concept of ‘soft power’. (Or it could have been Egypt.)

Much before McDonalds’ and KFC, Ashoka pointed out that it was better to win people and territory over through ideas than through the coercion of war. [There might have a Egyptian king called Akhnaton before him who said that too, but Ashoka could not have known that]. Of course, our soft power was in Buddhism and peace. The Americans exported obesity and reality TV.

We made the USA.

Bengal, that Communist fiefdom for more than 30 years, played a crucial part in the making of the flagbearer of all things capitalist, the United States of America.

Between 1756 and 1763 the French and the British were fighting the Seven Years’ War for control over more colonies across the world. Some part of this was being played out in India as well as the two battled it out mostly in South India. The British won, largely due to the resources they were able to command from Bengal after 1757, when they used supreme levels of skulduggery to beat Siraj-ud-daulah.

Winning in India, no doubt contributed to the overall win over the French. It also led the British to demand that the American colonists pay them ‘rent’ for the land they were using in America, since it was after all the British government that won it for them. Subsequently, the Stamp Act and the Townshend Act led the colonists to get weary of cheapo Britain fight the American War of Independence in 1776 and establish the United States of America. And who should they thank for it? The nice, self-effacing Bengalis.

The French revolution, you ask? All us.

Incidentally, the Colonists in their War of Independence were being supported by the French, who in a close approximation of cutting off your nose to spite your face, managed to bankrupt themselves in the process. This in turn caused the French revolution. [Aside:  I think Bengal should let Odisha claim the roshogolla. Since they you know, helped create the modern world, as we know it today.]

The industrial revolution was our idea.

We have all heard of how British merchants coerced India to sell (cotton) cheap and buy (final goods) dear, leading to ‘primary accumulation’ of capital that allowed the industrial revolution to take place. But we may have had a more important to play-essentially, by creating a market for cotton textiles in the first place. The British capitalists piled on, realising that there was a ready market they could serve, if they could only displace the market leaders.  This was hardly going to be difficult given their political control over India-imagine Steve Jobs as the majority shareholder in Nokia. But they went about it the civilised way first-by raising tariffs on Indian goods. By 1813, they were able to pressurise their government to end the monopoly of the East India Company in India, and subsequently flood the Indian markets with cheaper machine made goods. Interestingly, they also tried to increase the uptake of British goods in India by bringing in English education and Christian missionaries.

Maybe the firang love for FabIndia is their way to atone for the past.

Desi kids, your childhood dynamic with your friends/ siblings is the model of international diplomacy/ belligerence

North Korea is claiming that it has tested its first hydrogen bomb. In retaliation South Korea is broadcasting criticism against the North Korean government through loudspeakers on the border. North Korea is returning that in kind. It’s basically like when you were five and cheated in kho-kho and then somebody called you a cheater-cock and you got back by saying “no ji, jo bolta hai wahi hota hai”. 

Have you heard of China's frenzied island re-claiming activity in South China Sea? You, with your spitting-lightly-over-the-chocolate-before-the-blasted-sibling-can-make-a-claim behaviour, inspired it.

What I Learnt in the Month Gone By

The answer to the burning question of what I like better- mountains or the sea.

Bhutan-Relaxing after a morning walk

Maldives-Sneaking out for a mid afternoon break

Mountains FYI. Hands down.

A young person's love life is everybody's business.
I got asked by a thirty something globetrotting professional woman whether I wasn't getting too old for marriage. And whether my parents were not introducing me to suitable bachelors.

It's probably not love if a muffin can help get over heartbreak.

I don't hate dogs. Not a lot.

I shocked myself by going 'Awwww what a cute doggie' at a random stray in Bhutan. Also, fun fact: there are no dogs in the Maldives. Not one. (Maybe not such a fun fact for dogs).

I enjoy teaching.

Or having a captive audience, at any rate.

Adam-teasing is a thing.

A shop girl would break into a Hindi film song every time a male colleague would visit. One of those times, the song was 'Husn hai suhana, paas mere aana' (yes that forgotten gem from Coolie No. 1).

Unnecessary beautification is not just something CWG obsessed Indian administrators do.

Ghastly ornamentation in Bhutan

Still better than this:

Ghastly ornamentation in Delhi

Young lovers the world over desecrate public property.

See, just the names change

Indians are world famous for circumventing queues and bending rules. And being unapologetic about it. Even in the emergency ward of a government hospital named after a former Indian Prime Minister.

All the hoopla about 'Ghar ka Khana' is justified.

You can have all the fish maru, grilled tuna with salsa, Kerala style fish curry, Bengali restaurant style fish curry in the world. But your mom's homemade curry that spills from one end of the plate to another is still the best.(Now if only the moong ki daal and the daily bhindi could be avoided).

I am more Bengali than I get credit for.

It's not just about the food. I have rarely heard a Bengali say, 'Valentine's day is an import from the decadent West'. It's more common to hear them say that we have Saraswati Puja for that anyway.

A Uniform Civil Code is not a necessary (and certainly not a sufficient) condition for women's empowerment. The senior management of the Central Bank in Islamic Maldives is all-women.

There's a pleasure in the world called Kit Kat ice cream.

There can be no reasonable justification for this being denied to an average person in post-reform India.

They are not paying me for this, I swear

When people eulogise the West for scientific advancements, the computer and the internet, I don’t turn around and say “But we gave the world the zero!”

When Rajnath Singh denounces the use of English, I don’t take to the streets in my saffron robes in support.

I don’t blame all of society’s ills from corruption to violence against women to inflation on the insidious Western culture.

But I still don’t understand the transplanting of every Western custom, especially when some of these are not natural fits.

In the West, people refer to each other by their first names. Neighbours, friends’ parents, in-laws. So it’s natural for them to address each other similarly even at work.

Here, everyone who is older gets a familial suffix. People make generous use of Uncles and Aunties. Friends’ parents, parents’ friends, neighbours, shopkeepers, domestic help all get one of the two. Friends’ siblings, younger neighbours, older children of parents’ friends, the children of domestic help have a ‘didi’ or ‘bhaiya’ attached. And even this is the more generic nomenclature in Delhi. In Bengal for instance, mother’s friends would be mama/ mashi, dad’s friends would be pishi/ kaku. Neighbours slightly older to your dad would be Jethu, Jethima; neighbours slightly younger would be kaku/ kakima.

Yet, when we go to work, we are expected to forget all that and address people considerably older by their first names. Why can’t I call someone senior Sir/ Ma’am, why is that so offensive? Such a form of address is not a mark of servility in India, just a mark of respect. Why is professionalism confused so much with Westernisation? Why do people forget context?

Take McDonalds. Every time you go in, a staff member smiles at you, enquires after your well-being (in English) and then proceeds to take your order. I am not arguing against hospitality or good manners. In its initial days, I am sure McDonald got a more niche clientele, but since then things have got more inclusive. The patron more often is not English-speaking (though he/she may be English-understanding and English-reading). The servers too are hardly ever comfortable with the language, beyond the two-three niceties they are expected to mouth. Is this, not then, a cultural imposition?

But while I recognise the importance of context in the above instances, I am sometimes less willing to consider it in others. Feminism, for example. It seems wrong when people talk about how important women are in society, with respect to their position as mother, wife or daughter. Yet, in India, everyone (men and women) are defined according to their relationships with others...So do I suddenly agree with that school of thought?

Just ruminating. 

Travelpost: Lucknow

 To get a pre-paid auto at the Lucknow Railway station, passengers have to catch hold of an available auto, then coax the driver to take them to their desired destination. A man wearing a denim jacket and matching pants roams around brandishing a stick, performing the duties of the constabulary. There is no indication of him being there in official capacity. However, his prodding succeeds in convincing an autowallah, who we found after waiting for at least 20 minutes, to take us to our guesthouse in Aliganj.  

It is a thirty-minute ride, during which the auto stops four times. Twice to ask for directions, once for the driver to answer his mobile, and once for him to buy bananas that he eats while my parents worriedly ask around for directions. Never, at a traffic signal. There are none on the way. Vehicles seem to find a way out of the mess at the various intersections on their own, spewing out in all directions and on all sides. Apart from that, the ride is eventless.



The Guesthouse Campus



 

The guesthouse is situated within a residential complex for Government scientists. I have lived in one of those in Delhi, and all the memories make me smile. The campus is large and clean. I see no kids around though, a huge difference from the Delhi campus. The guesthouse is really a wing of the scientists’ hostel, with the rooms being more comfortably furnished than those of the latter. The caretaker is a mild mannered elderly man. I can almost hear the question mark in his voice after he tells us his own name. He informs us that there is no lunch available and that we should go to the restaurant nearby if we want any. My father grimaces at the signboard announcing the restaurant to be “100 per cent vegetarian”. We eat in silence.

We step out next morning for the usual round of sight-seeing. I am adamant that I want to see the city like a local. My dad agrees by refusing to book a cab. It wasn’t exactly what I meant, but I take it well since I enjoy using public transport. My mother grumbles. I do too, exactly half an hour later, when I realise that Lucknow has no legitimate public transport system. An exorbitantly priced auto ride later, we are at the gate of the Bada Imambada. Immediately touts surround us promising to show us the Imambada and other famous sights around the area in a horse pulled tonga for all of fifty rupees. We hop on.

Our first stop is the Chikan factory in the area. We realise we have been heckled, and that the tonga wala’s only aim is to earn a commission from the factory on our purchases. As a matter of principle, my parents refuse to buy anything from there. The tonga wala is all politeness even after the debacle, driving us to see the Chota imambada (the only one in the tonga wala’s itinerary). There is a clock tower on the way, whose photos I hastily click on my phone camera.



Clock Tower, Lucknow

At the Chota Imambada, we are met by a lone gatekeeper, who for thirty rupees also doubles up as the resident guide. My mother tells him how the people of Lucknow all seem to be very well spoken. Accordingly, he prattles off the history of the Shahi Hammam (the Royal Bath) in impeccable Urdu. We struggle to comprehend. The camera conks off and I worry about it, while he directs my parents to the royal lavatory and goes on to explain the mechanics of the 300 year old system. My mother is disgusted, my father impressed. The imambada itself houses a lot of chandeliers sourced from various parts of the world. We look around for some time before our tonga wala comes in to tell us it’s time. He drops us off at the gate of the Bada Imambada, with the directions to get a Government approved guide inside. I am famished and refuse to see anymore.



Shahi Hamam, Chota Imambada Complex

We go to Hazratganj, the posh market in Lucknow. It reminds us of C.P, only dirtier. Even when compared to the mess C.P currently is in. There is no room to complain about the food though. It is every bit as good as we had heard. We eat in silence again. A more satisfied silence than before.

Dad books a car for the next morning. The driver calls us half an hour after we are scheduled to leave, to tell us he is late. We cancel the booking and resignedly hail another overcharging auto to make our way to the Bada Imambada. The hecklers of the previous day recognise us and keep their distance.



Gateway to the Bada Imambada



The government-approved guide ignores the chart enumerating the government-approved guide rates. We point it out. He hastily revises the prices he quoted. Then hurries us through the Imambada building when we agree. He cackles impatiently as I stop to click photos. He tells us that the Imambada was built by Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula as a project to generate employment for the poor during drought years. They would build during the day, and the Nawab would order his men to break the structures down by night. This went on for 11 years before the Nawab stopped his night-time destruction. It took another 11 years to build the structure.



Bada Imambada


The famous Bhool Bhulaiya (the Labyrinth) stands next to the Imambada building. It has 1024 ways, out of which only one is correct. Some of the routes can take you to Agra, Faizabad and as far as Delhi. Inside, the guide makes us stand with our ears pressed to the wall. He goes further down the corridor and softly says our name, his mouth facing the wall. We can hear him clearly. The guide puns about  “deewaro ke bhi kaan hote hain”. The saying might have originated there, I couldn’t tell you for sure. The view from the terrace is beautiful. The guide can’t tell us the names of some of the ruins I point out. And he seems too disinterested to cook up anything. I have to be satisfied by clicking photos.


Unnamed Ruin, as seen from the terrace of the Bhool Bhulaiya


We have a late lunch at the famous Chowk area, but not before being heckled some more. The restaurant owner suggests we hurry if we want to see the Residency. We obey. The residency is a group of ruins that housed the British General during his stay at Lucknow. The museum has interesting artefacts, including shards of porcelain vessels that were excavated as early as 2000. I want to explore some more, but it is nearly closing time and the guards hover nearby, discouraging anyone from looking too carefully. There are a few portraits of the Nawabs, but I don’t bother with those. I click pictures of some of the ruins. Each proclaims itself to have been of consequence during its glory days. Either a doctor’s residence or a begum’s quarters. I do not bother with those plaques either.


Ruins in the Residency Complex



Ruins in the Residency Complex



The next afternoon, on board the Shatabdi Express, my mother rues that there was no time to see the newer parts of Lucknow, the parks that are the ex Chief Minister’s legacy. She promises to go there the next time we visit. The train pulls out of the station.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





The front page of the Hindu reported on 22 August 2012  that the Government (and most other parties were in agreement) was mulling the need to amend the Constitution in order to enable states to provide reservations for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes in job promotions. Earlier attempts by states like U.P to usher in such a provision had been struck down by the Supreme Court. The report quoted the Prime Minister, saying, "You may be aware that the government had always been committed to protecting the interests of the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes and on certain occasions did not hesitate even to bring constitutional amendments".

The back page of the same newspaper reported that the Supreme Court had accused the Government of being "not serious" in putting an end to manual scavenging, practised primarily (as Satyemav Jayate informed us) by the lowest castes. This was in response to the Additional Solicitor General vacillating about when the Government would introduce a Bill to amend the Employment of Manual Scavengers and Construction of Dry Latrines (Prohibition) Act, currently a largely loose law since it does not address manual cleaning of septic tanks. The government has been promising to introduce the required Bill for the past six months, the article said.

Just saying.